


run dry

by orphan_account



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alcohol, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Drunkenness, M/M, Non-Consensual Kissing, One-Sided Attraction, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-06
Packaged: 2018-06-06 16:06:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6760762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>patrick's weight drops soon after the start of the hiatus, and he finds himself drinking too much to consider it healthy. a story on recovery and how patrick made too many mistakes. </p>
<p>for the fall out boy creations challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	run dry

**Author's Note:**

> hey! im very proud of this fic and i hope you like it! heavy trigger warning for alcoholism and cheating.

"patrick?"

he shakes his head, although vaguely. his sides hurt and the edges of his vision are blurry. he moves, maybe too slow for his own liking, but he can see pete now. "pete?" he says, his voice rusty and his breath smelling of whiskey. he almost doesn't recognize his best friend; he still swears he's still the guy of the eyeliner and the long black hair sometimes.

"patrick, you've drank too much." pete's voice is soft and outright worried, and it makes patrick feel slightly amused. he was fine, really! he hadn't ever been better. he lets out a dry laugh and pete stares at him.

he's not used to this at all. when he visited patrick the first time after the band's activity was put to a pause, he seemed way skinnier and weaker. he saw him grow more and more frail, his breath always with the odor of cheap whiskey and wine.

never sober, not anymore.

"i'm fine," patrick said, his words slurring in his tongue. he passes a hand through his bleached blonde hair, a crooked smile on his factions. "i'm fine, really, peter. you look real good tonight, would you --" he burps for sudden and he shakes his head. he coughs a little before he seems ready to keep talking.

pete can't help but stare at patrick. he is so changed, he's not the chubby, young boy he used to know. and he always does the same: flirt, or an attempt to. he has a wife, he knows this is wrong. and patrick doesn't care, because he hasn't thought about elisa for a while.

" _c'mon, peeete_!" he exclaims, motioning his hands around and getting closer to him. "i love you, man. i love you," he chirps, leaning towards the older boy's face.

pete pulls away gently, not wanting patrick to react in a negative manner. "patrick, you've drank too much," he repeats, hoping he'll hear for once.

even though he knows he won't.

the night goes on; it's tortuous and patrick keeps trying to kiss him and whisper things to his ear. his eyes are clouded with the alcohol and he's too drunk to even notice how blurry everything is.

pete can only think that he hates the way the whiskey smells.

\---

pete is listening to patrick's new album. he isn't really sure how did his best friend manage to write and record it all by himself, plus the alcoholism must have been killing him. but it's there.

it's all good -- pete loves it, until this song starts playing.

_run dry (x heart x fingers)_ , pete reads. he has an assumption made, but he doesn't want to believe it.

the song starts playing. one more shot then i'm quitting forever. _fuck_.

"fuck," he says under his breath, suddenly choking on his own saliva. he tries to remain calm, to keep listening.

woke up this morning, the room was spinning...  
realization hits him like a truck. there it is, he thinks silently. the song keeps going and it's painful to listen to. the memories are too vivid for his liking, and everything feels off.

i'm not just drunk, i, i really think i'm in love with you, baby  
(okay, i really am just drunk)

pete starts crying like a little kid.

"fuck," he repeats, this time louder.

\---

the next time pete sees patrick, he seems slightly stronger, but his grip on things is still weak and there's enormous bags under his eyes.

pete shakes his head as soon as patrick asks him how has he been. "how have you been, 'trick?"

"i've been fine," patrick says, uninterested. he shrugs, almost seeing the troubled look in pete's eyes. "what, you're worried for me again?"

"did you stop drinking?" pete asks, his question a whisper. he leans in closer to the shorter boy, and patrick sighs. his breath smells of wine, but it's not so terribly noticeable.

"yeah, i have," patrick says, maybe too cheerful for pete's trust. "i've been fine, pete, really. why'd you worry so much?"

"you acted... off when drunk," pete mutters, fidgeting with his hoodie zipper. he hates this, he hates talking about it. "you even mentioned it in run dry."

"i did," patrick chuckles quietly. "i'm not just drunk," he sings, smiling. "it's a good song, isn't it?" he asks, blinking a few times, his eyes shining.

pete is too afraid to look at them. he sighs nervously. "yeah, it is good. i guess," he whispers. "too painful to listen to," he adds before a second of silence.

"why? i wasn't that bad when drunk!"

pete shakes his head. patrick's slurred speech and the caressing and the words are in his mind. he clears his throat, eyeing the younger boy awkwardly. "you tried to touch me, patrick. you have a wife."

patrick tries to seem surprised. "i never --"

"step three: pretend you don't remember," pete states coolly, barely blinking. his gaze is fixated on patrick, and he's biting his tongue. he doesn't want to let it out, to let him know how much had it fuck him up.

how much it had fucked him up. how much it had fucked his perception of patrick up.

patrick fixes his hair, staring into the distance, his lips pursed. he doesn't know what to say; he remembers. oh, he does remember. he had fucked up so many times.

_god, i need a drink_ , he thinks, and he knows he won't stop himself. _barely any self control_ , he muses bitterly.

pete doesn't get to stop patrick from grabbing a whiskey bottle and drinking right from it. he coughs afterwards, his lungs on fire. he keeps drinking and pete contemplates leaving, but the other part of him knows that things worse than attempts of flirting could happen if he left patrick alone.

thirty minutes after, patrick feels better than ever. he loves drinking, it helps him, it's good. everyone keeps saying it's bad, that it hurts him, but he doesn't really care. he's happy when he's drunk; he's miserable and tired when sober. what's better, then?

patrick smiles at pete and pete takes a few steps back, distancing himself from him. patrick calmly follows him, his walk a little clumsy, his legs feeling like jelly because of the alcohol in his stomach. pete ends up against a wall, and patrick smiles to himself.

"you're so wonderful," he whispers, his voice hoarse and his breath tainted with whiskey. pete tries to pull away, but he isn't able to before their lips meet. it isn't reciprocated at all, but patrick is so rough and harsh it makes pete feel sick.

pete pushes the younger man off him, and he's dizzy with nausea. the taste of whiskey is right in his lips, and he has never found it more disgusting.

\---

it takes a few more attempts for patrick to go to a therapist. he fears it, as it'll probably end up with him feeling smaller and weaker than ever. his usual weight is back -- except for four or three pounds. he hasn't touched any drink besides water in a few days, and he misses the fiery taste of whiskey.

"you are _the_ patrick stump, right?" the therapist asks curiously. her eyes are dark blue and her long, brown hair is in a ponytail. she doesn't seem too excited, so patrick assumes she isn't a fan, but rather just someone who knows him as a celebrity.

patrick licks his lips. "yeah, that'd be me."

"you look so different."

"things that risk of diabetes and drinking too much do on people, i guess," he replies sharply. he doesn't realize what he says until the words are out of his mouth. shit. he gives her an apologetic look.

"risk of diabetes?"

"yeah. i was - pretty overweight, you know. i had to lose a lot of pounds." he tries not to talk too much about his sudden change of appearance, the way people hardly recognize him anymore.

the therapist -- patrick can't remember her name -- writes something in her notebook. "and... alcoholism? is that what you came here for?" she asks, looking at him again.

patrick fidgets with his tie. he has kept this whole formal suits aesthetic since he lost weight, even though it doesn't really feel like him. he sighs, not making eye contact with her. "pete was who made me come here, really, but --"

"wentz?"

"wentz," patrick confirms, the question already expected.

"how did he know about it?"

patrick shuffles around in his seat, biting his lower lip anxiously. the memory is sour and he doesn't like recalling it. "well, he came to my house around a year ago and i was drunk. he noticed how frail and weak i looked and... stuff happened, i guess." he huffs softly, passing a hand through his bleached blonde hair.

"what did you do when drunk?" she asks after writing things down in her notebook.

"isn't this too straightforward?" patrick says, his head hurting a little. the therapist is about to say something when he interrupts her. "no, no, it's fine. i tried to flirt with pete?" he says tentatively, and he finds the idea pretty embarrassing now that he doesn't have even a milligram of alcohol in his system. "and -- i also threw things around sometimes. it was bad."

the therapist nods. "you have stopped drinking, correct?"

"yeah."

"you see, there's an emotional toll because of things like alcohol abuse. have you felt too tired, sad or empty when sober?"

"i have."

patrick doesn't want to go into details, and he knows that as soon as he's out of the door he isn't coming back.

"alright. you should really contact a psychiatrist, to give you medication and maybe more support than i can."

patrick shuffles his feet and decides to vent. to do what he has come here to in the first place. "i feel terrible for what i did -- i wanted to have sex with my best friend when drunk. i even kissed him! i was trying to cheat on my wife." he feels ridiculous and stupid, and he almost senses the tears in his eyes.

_fuck._

the therapist looks rather apathetic towards his problems and patrick hasn't felt any better since the appointment started. "that's alright. you weren't in control of your actions," she says softly, and patrick finds little comfort in her words.

pete had told him therapists were the best thing that could happen to someone troubled. well, he was clearly wrong, patrick thinks as he heads out of the room when she says she's got to see another patient. he doesn't schedule another appointment.

\---

he gets better. slowly, but at a steady pace. his heart feels wrecked and he still relapses sometimes. pete's always there for him, his chocolate eyes following him as he thumps around the house. pete's always there for him, helping him clean up the mess he leaves in the house.

patrick is healthier now. drinking isn't a thing he does a lot anymore. he's safe, isn't he? life seems to have a more positive outlook now.

especially when pete invites him to write lyrics. especially when andy and joe join the picture once again.

patrick being drunk is now a rare occurrence, and pete doesn't seem to hold rancor for what he did.

everything's alright, and pete doesn't hate the smell of the whiskey anymore.


End file.
